Poker Face
by MinorChords
Summary: She knows that he’s staring at her, most likely trying to come up with a response. She knows that it wasn’t fair, her being so forward like that. That wasn’t how they played this game. JATE ONESHOT


A/N: Okay, like my last oneshot OCEAN WAVES, HORIZON LINES, this fanfict has no set time. However, there are references to season one and two. I'm not sure how much sense this will make because honestly this is a result of me just rambling out ideas onto my computer and hoping that they all encompass the same main idea. I was going to entitle this "She Knows" but then I thought Poker face might make it seem more interesting...tell me which you think suits the story better.

Please just don't read it and move on. REVIEW, even if you don't like it. Constructive criticism is always welcomed.

A/N: I don't think I have to tell you but this is in Kate's point of View.

Enjoy...

* * *

"Every man, wherever he goes, is encompassed by a cloud of comforting convictions,

which move with him like files on a summer day."

Bertrand Russell (1872-1970)

**_Poker Face_**

She knows that he's watching her; she doesn't turn around, no that would be too obvious. She just stands there and waits, knowing that he'll eventually make his way over to her. They'll strike up a conversation about things and people and places that mean absolutely nothing because it's the only thing that they know how to do.

It'll start out the same; he'll say something, she'll give a witty reply, and then somewhere along the line he'll make a comment about the supplies, or the others, or just another one of the island mystery that will effectively end their verbal copulation. She won't mind because she knows that this is the part of himself that he saves for only for her. He's not supposed to feel apprehensive or worried or afraid; Superman never complained.

She'll say she's worried about him and he'll reassure her. They'll come to an understanding and appreciation of each other's company, knowing full well that they would not be able to live on this island without each other. They'll hold each other's gaze, not willingly to break the connection; not ready to let go of the bliss that comes with falling, falling hard. The moment and the memory that it'll make is all that they have. Tomorrow will come too soon.

She didn't like what he was doing to her. Predictability was never her style; she preferred not getting close enough to people for them to make such a conclusion. And when she did all of it was usually based on a lie. Everybody says that they don't like being told a lie. The _truth_ is that they're lying to themselves. Real people are messy; they have scars from wounds that go beneath the surface. Nobody really wants to hear that.

She was willing to tell him about it once- her life; her real life. The one that she threw away. It was a confession that she knew would change everything, and it took her a while to surrender and let herself fall.

But he didn't want to know. When the words came out of his mouth, she thought that she was right. People make it look like they care, but they really don't'; nobody wants to see the bloody scars or the stitches or the broken bones. Everything is so much easier without that stuff getting in the way. People like it when everything goes just as it should.

That is except him.

He said that it didn't matter. That he didn't _need_ to know, which really surprised her because once people find out about her, knowing only half of the details just isn't enough. After all nobody likes to be in the dark.

That is except him.

He said that she died. The Kate that killed her father and best friend didn't exist anymore. But she had died a long time ago, long before she had met him or anybody else on this island, recklessly trying to escape the reality of what she did. It's been a while since she had been well…a person; since she actually _lived_, the way he does everyday.

He was just asking her to breathe; let the good air in and the bad air out and she suddenly felt way out of her league.

She still feels like that sometimes, wondering where he got all the answers from because as much as he'd deny it, she knew he had some sort of edge.

"You okay," his voice doesn't startle her the way it used to.

"Yea, just wondering" she says, keeping her eyes on the horizon as an excuse.

"About what," He's looking at her now.

She doesn't think to avoid the question by adding a witty remark or changing the subject. The words come out of her mouth before she has a chance to process the thought.

"You"

She knows that he's staring at her, most likely trying to come up with a response. She knows that it wasn't fair, her being so forward like that. That wasn't how they played this game. But then she remembers the cave-in, the Marshall's case, and doesn't feel so bad anymore.

"Me," He's not asking her to confirm, but she does it anyway.

"You"

"What were you wondering about?" There's a real curiosity in his voice that almost sounds playful.

"Just….stuff." She smiles at his tone.

"Stuff." He states.

"Stuff." She confirms

"Are you just going to repeat everything that I say," He asks. She can hear the amusement and slight frustration in his voice.

"Until you stop repeating what _I_ say." She dares, knowing that it is probably not the smartest idea to continue.

"Tushay" He says, recognizing that she won this round.

"Thank you," She says, her voice soft and sweet.

He doesn't say anything right away, and she doesn't expect him to. He's not that kind of guy.

"So," he says after a minute or two of silence.

"So," She dares, this time daring to look at him. He lets out a heart-filled laugh that encourages one of her own.

"You going to tell me what you were really thinking about," He says, "Or are we just going keep repeating each other."

"But I already told you, " she says, keeping her eyes on the horizon, on the waves, on the colors, and on anything but him. "You"

"I got that part," He says, and she knows that he's trying not to smile, "…..what _about _me?"

There's a pause.

"I'm not that much of a complex person," he says, and she knows that he was only saying that because he couldn't say anything else. _Anything else_ would just make things complicated.

"I'm sure," she says, "Although all the spinal surgeons I've met weren't poker faces that had tattoos along their arms." He let out a chuckle as she continued. "Then again, maybe they're all like that."

Another pause.

"Come on," he says, his voice soft and serious, "Tell me the truth, just this once."

"Haven't you played that card already, poker face," she chuckles, knowing that he can see through her smile.

She stares out into the ocean, waiting, expecting him to come up with some clever remark that she'll be able to manipulate to change the subject. But then she can feel the weight of his palm against her own and knows that he isn't going to be the one to end this conversation.

"Please," he says, the pleading tone of his voice, mirrored in his eyes. Those eyes she's afraid to look at, but eventually digs up enough nerve to do so. He's looking at her differently then he ever has before. A longing that she can see beneath his exterior, as if he _needs_ to know.

"Do you have an ugly truth?" she says, keeping the connection, aware that he hasn't moved his hand out of her own yet. "Do you ever cry?...you just seem so-"

"I'm not _so_…" he says. "In fact, your probably more _so_ than I am"

"You don't know my past," she says, suddenly confused as to how she got on the wrong end of this question.

"You don't know mine." He replies, and she knows that he won this round.

She wanted to look away, to be able to tear her eyes away from this beautiful man before her with no repercussions that made her feel human. But he looked at her with such a passion, such an intensity as if to say: _I'm broken too._

"Tushay" She says.

They had never done this before.

"So," she smiles, "you cry"

"Yea" he chuckles, "I cry."

"Can I get that in writing because I just can't picture such a hard-core spinal surgeon as yourself sitting in front of the T.V. on a Sunday afternoon watching _My Best Friend's Wedding_ with a tub of ice cream in one hand and a Kleenex in the other. She chuckles as he lets out another heart-filled laugh.

Finally, something comfortable.

"I never said I was into the whole chick-flick thing," he says, "But yes, I do, I mean I have cried." _And I bleed too._

"Jack!" someone calls him somewhere along the beach. They both look down towards the tents and notice that Locke is standing outside of Claire's tent, waving him over.

"Well, I better-" he begins

"Yea," she says, "You should"

It was then that she notices the weight of his hand still in her own. He lets go and the moment he does, her hand feels empty, as if it is missing something it needs to survive.

"I'll um," he says, "I'll see you later,"

"Yea," she replies, "See you"

She smiles at him and he smiles back and right then, in that moment, nothing else matters. All there is, is sand and the current, the push and pull routine connecting their feet with the same water, the same ocean; all they have is each other and the familiar feeling of falling.

And then he walks away, towards the shelters they call home, and the people they have come to know as their family.

She knows that by now, he's probably over at Claire shelter, checking on Aaron. He'll greet her with a reassuring smile and say all the right things to the worried mother because Kate knows that he understands what its like to feel scared and alone.

_Fin_


End file.
